


Hard Ballin'

by Phindin



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basketball, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phindin/pseuds/Phindin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evening practice takes a different turn when Mikasa gets mad. The author indulges in overly technical play-by-plays like a nerd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Ballin'

**Author's Note:**

> for anyone that's curious (none of you), levi is the same height as muggsy bogues, the shortest dude to ever play in the nba—kindred souls when it comes to slaying titans, you could say. that second sentence in the summary is also not a joke. don't say i didn't warn you.

“Again.”

Levi’s breath misted as he spoke. The last rosy hue in the sky was giving way to gray, like blood draining from a spanning canvas of dying flesh. Light from the peeling lampposts gave the grainy asphalt a pale, silver luster. It was if they had their own paved strip of the fucking moon.

It was quiet, save for Mikasa’s light footfalls—though they’d grown heavier over the past few hours. Wind sprints. Levi knew she hated them. He hoped she did, anyway; if she didn’t, then he would have to think up a new forfeit. For now, it was wind sprints. Ten trips up and down the court, capping each length with fingers on the baseline. Mikasa could do almost seven sets of them without breaking a sweat, but that was the point. Levi wanted it to be a repetitious, demeaning waste of time.

Mikasa finished her final length at full speed, almost skidding as she reached down for the baseline. Levi joined her, scooping a ball from the court and holding it at his hip. Mikasa kept her breathing even, but her face had an uncharacteristically ruddy sheen. Despite the chill, she wore still just her shorts and tank top. When Levi said nothing, she stiffened her posture, the set of her dark eyes showing defiant focus.

No words needed. She wanted another try.

“Go.”

Mikasa darted into a curl. Levi shoved her the ball before she made a full turn. She caught it cleanly, took a dribble, then squared up for a corner three with just a sliver of moon rock separating her sneakers from the line. The ball shook the rim, then sunk—nicely done. Levi had recently begun to emphasize court awareness. If she happened to toe the line, then it was automatic wind sprints.

Levi jogged to the basket and flipped the ball to Mikasa as she found her next spot, setting her feet for a long angle three. It dropped in, never grazing the rim, and he fed her again from straight away. Swish. Her right angle three fell, but only after a friendly bounce. Levi heaved his last pass high. Mikasa jumped and extended her body to snatch it, but her feet were out of place, forcing her to step back and take a dribble. Her body faded towards the sideline as she released the ball, and the shot rimmed off.

Rather than start a fresh round of sprints, Mikasa’s eyes narrowed, and she gave Levi a dark look.

“What was that pass?” she said.

“You got lucky on the shot before.”

“It’s in if it goes in.”

“You’ll miss if you use that same shitty form again,” Levi said. “Straight up and down. Every time.”

Mikasa did not avert her glare. “I’m not running.”

“Then we’re done. I don’t teach brats who can’t follow directions.”

“I don’t want any.” She strode across the court towards him. “Play me.”

Levi regarded her. He could read the hard look on her face—could understand it: the boiling, competitive desire to not only beat him, but beat him badly, to pummel and crush him using any available means.

This was good—and it could end up better. After all the rigorous practice she’d been putting in recently, Levi wanted to know what it would be like to face her at full force.

“Fine.”

Mikasa stopped, looking almost startled, but within seconds the harsh look returned.

“Pick-up scoring,” Levi went on. “First to eleven. Win by two.”

She gave him no recognition, and instead grabbed the ball from his hands and dribbled slowly out to the top of the arc.

“I’ll shoot,” she said.

She hoisted up a three—a casual, off-balance one—and ripped it straight through the net. Levi caught the ball and passed it back to her. He shed his gray sweats and took the court, spreading his arms and widening his body once he was in position. There was some airspace between them, but that was intentional. They’d been drilling threes because the outside shot was still Mikasa’s greatest weakness. He would dare her to take them.

After checking the ball, Mikasa was not shy. She took a one dribble step back and swished the first shot of the game well over Levi’s outstretched arm. It was almost a perfect recreation of the shot she’d missed off of his bad pass. Now that she was hot and dialed in, he’d have to get up on her. 

“2-0.”

That was all Mikasa said before handing him the ball. Levi took a few easy dribbles between his legs before checking the ball. He hadn’t had a chance to stretch or warm up, but he wouldn’t complain; his opponent was coming off a grueling three hour practice—that she didn’t seem particularly worn out didn’t matter. All it really meant was that Levi would only get quicker and better as the game went on.

He eased himself into his first drive, probing left and getting Mikasa to bite. Still, she reacted quickly as Levi burst right, and cut him off before he got to the rim. Levi lowered his shoulder and gave her a bump, compromising her balance and giving him time to raise for a ten footer: a straight lift, a flick of the wrist, and an easy basket.

“2-1.”

On the ensuing possession, Levi guarded Mikasa closer, keeping his hands low towards the ball. She recognized the shift and tried to catch him off guard with a quick drive to the right. Levi stayed in front of her, and as she retreated with a sloppy dribble, he swiped the ball from her. It lead to an easy layup.

“2-2.”

Levi continued to hound her. Perhaps rattled by her miscue during the last possession, Mikasa responded with a handful of timid moves that ended with a difficult, off-balance shot from mid-range. The ball came hard off the rim, and Levi felt his elbow jab inadvertently into her chin as they both leaped high for the rebound. The blow knocked Mikasa on her ass, and she couldn’t recover in time to stop Levi from pulling up for a wide open three. He drained it.

“I know the score,” she said, before Levi could open his mouth. She rubbed her chin and took the ball.

Mikasa’s dribbling remained hesitant. She settled for another jump shot—this time a three—and missed badly. As the ball sprung off the iron, Levi turned to put a body on her, but was too late. Mikasa read the angle and swept by Levi to pluck the ball from the air. He ran at her, but she hesitated with her dribble, allowing Levi to fly harmlessly by. It was a crafty move, and it freed Mikasa for an uncontested layup.

They battled on. With renewed confidence in her ball handling, Mikasa kept the game close, beating Levi twice with her crossover; the first resulted in a blow by, while the second set her up for a clean look from fifteen feet. She also forced Levi into his first miss, but he drilled another three on his next attempt.

Neither player had called a foul, and the pace slowed as the defense became more rugged. After Levi and Mikasa exchanged difficult makes from mid-range, the score stood at 7-6. Mikasa could no longer keep up her measured breathing, and Levi was sweating, prompting him to peel off his t-shirt and toss it off the court in a wad. Mikasa followed suit. She wore a black sports bra underneath. Gooseflesh dotted her toned, pale limbs.

The real contest was only just starting.


End file.
